Home
by PreciousDelight
Summary: What if Sam decided that the Stanford life wasn't really the life he wanted to live, and came back home?


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Kripke does.

Contemplating whether to just go in or turn and run like the wind, Sam thought he'd never been more scared in his entire life. Drawing in a few shaky, sharp breaths, he lifted his right hand, holding his overly filled duffle bag with his left. His hands were trembling, as was the rest of his body. _It shouldn't be this hard_, he thought. But it was, and that was all his own fault. He'd said so much, of which he only meant so little. He didn't hate his father, neither did he hate their freaky lifestyle. He was just so tired of never seeing his dad, or having him holler orders at him when he did see him. His dad was the only parent he still had left. He'd always wanted his father's love so badly, but the man seemed to care more about his obedient older brother. _Probably because he remembers mom_, he thought bitterly. Dropping his hand and letting it fall limply to his body, he remembered his reason for leaving. _It was just college_, he thought. _It wasn't like I was going away forever_. But his father wouldn't let him, and when he did he told him to never come back. So why even go in now?

He was about to turn when he heard his brother's low voice, a sound that always made his heart skip a little when he hadn't heard it for a long period of time. He and his brother had never really been apart for more than a week, tops, but it'd always felt like forever. Because his brother always looked out for him, was always there for him to talk to. He'd help him with his homework when their father was out hunting whatever hell spawn that he'd crossed paths with. He'd practice shooting with him when his dad was too busy sleeping or drinking. His brother had even faked his father's signature so Sam could actually go to college.

Hearing his brother's voice on the other side of that door made him spin around and wanting to go in so badly. He wanted to hug his brother, tell him he'd missed him so much and was sorry for leaving. But somehow, hearing the angry and somewhat worried tone of his brother's voice prevented him from going in. He stood in front of the door for a few minutes, straining his ears to pick up what his brother was muttering. He picked up a few things like; "Damn phones. Why even have 'em?" and "I'm going to kill him when he get's back." Sam involuntarily thought that Dean meant him, but his phone didn't ring, so it couldn't have been about him.

He quickly raised his hand, tapped on the door before he could make up his mind and leave, and took a step back, waiting for the door to open. There was the muffled sound of boots as someone walked to the door, the rattling of a chain and the sound of metal against metal as the door was unlocked. The moment the door swung open Sam looked up, and met the surprised bright green eyes of his four year older brother. The brother he'd missed so much, his actual reason for coming back.  
"Sammy?" Dean asked, and he looked like he was about to slam the door shut right in front of his face.  
"Hey Dean," Sam said, shifting awkwardly from one foot to another.  
"What the hell are you doing here?" The words came out harsh and Sam did his best to keep a straight face, hide the sting that those words sent to the pit of his stomach. He tried really hard to mask the oncoming tears forming in the corners of his eyes, tried not to seem vulnerable, like Dad always taught them.  
"I – uhm, can I come in, maybe?" He thought he saw a flicker of something that seemed like hope bright up his brothers eyes, right before Dean's face hardened, closed.  
"No," Dean said and wanted to shut the door in Sam's face but Sam propped up a foot against the door, forcing it to stay open. He did not come all the way out here from California to a dirty motel somewhere off the highway near God-knows-where in North Dakota just to get a door slammed in his face. Now, he may have deserved it – God knows he really did deserve it – but he wasn't going anywhere without having at least explained himself towards his brother.  
"Please, Dean." He put up his infamous puppy dog eyes and he knew right then that Dean was going to buckle, let him inside, hear him out. Dean just grunted a muffled 'whatever', rolled his eyes and stepped away from the door, right on cue. "Thanks." He went inside, closed the door behind him. And somehow that dirty motel, just off the highway near some small town in North Dakota, felt just like home. Because home was where Dean was.


End file.
